


Vicarious

by badwolf, dysphorie



Series: The Necroverse [2]
Category: John 5 (Musician), Slipknot (Band)
Genre: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Death, Dubious Consent, Dubious Morality, Extremely Dubious Consent, Flirting, Freeform tags on mobile are hard, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Minor Violence, Necrophilia, Phone Sex, Porn, Smut, Snuff, Technically lmao, Threesome, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:41:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24672496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badwolf/pseuds/badwolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/dysphorie/pseuds/dysphorie
Summary: "Something has to changeUndeniable dilemmaBoredom's not a burdenAnyone should bear..."Or, Jim's actions come back to bite him, and now he has difficult decisions to make...Sequel to/continuation ofIn Another Life. Please read that first!
Relationships: Jim Root/Corey Taylor, John 5/Jim Root
Series: The Necroverse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1614589
Comments: 62
Kudos: 21





	1. Finger Deep Within The Borderline

**Author's Note:**

> At last, it's the long-awaited Necrosequel! Sequel to/continuation of [In Another Life](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20364931). Please read that first!
> 
> WOW this took a minute to get out. You know what they say though, better late than never.
> 
> Extra tags in the end note to avoid spoilers, will be updated as the story progresses
> 
> No gods, no masters. We cannot be stopped

Bleary-eyed and bone-weary, Jim drags his feet as he hauls open the door of the main morgue building. He didn’t get a wink of sleep last night. Who _could_ fucking sleep after a shift like that? He can still feel the cold of John’s skin against his hands, icy even through his gloves, and the mental image of those lidded brown eyes, unfocused and unseeing, has burned itself into Jim’s brain like a cheap CRT screen. He was bewitched then and he feels worse now, sick to his stomach for hours because how is he supposed to feel when he’s tasted fucking heaven and knows he’ll never get it again? 

Jesus. There he goes again, mawkish and _“woe-is-me”_. Pathetic, he’s so pathetic. The guys are gonna see it all over his face, and they’re gonna assume he got dumped, _again,_ and he’s gonna have to listen to them laughing like jackasses until the night shift guys finish. Only to be replaced by the day shift where the ribbing will pick back up where it left off. He’d tell them to fuck off and threaten to sack them, but something tells him the threat would lose it’s punch when it’s pointed out that he can’t exactly fire them all. Fuck. Jim needs a drink. Shame that being drunk at work is frowned upon.

Though...there might be _something_ he can do to take the edge off his shitty mood. Sometimes rubbing one out in the bathroom is a decent enough band-aid for a bad day.

Dropping his bag and coat in the office, he looks about a bit before passing over to the drawers, checking the numbers with the description of their contents. Looking for inspiration. There’s a few new residents filling them, and he paces back and forth, considering his choices: _too old, too young, too oozy, too burned beyond recogniti -_ hang on...

He doubles back, not convinced his eyes aren’t lying to him. There’s a drawer that he thought would’ve been empty by now, but it’s occupied. Yes, he’s foggy and sleep-deprived but surely he hasn’t _completely_ lost his entire shit. Frowning, he walks out into the hall to reception and pokes his head around the door.

Jay the intern is sitting with his feet up on the counter, face glued to Youtube on his phone and his back to the door. Jim doesn’t care, he’ll yell at him later when he’s less confused. And less horny. 

“Yo man, you been here all morning?”

Usually, a shriek as loud as the one Jay gives would make Jim’s anxiety swell cos he fucking _hates_ sudden loud noises and screaming in a morgue is never a fun time ( _t_ _hanks Hollywood),_ but Jim’s pretty sure he’s numb to outside stimulus right now. 

Jay clutches his chest, panting. “Fuck dude, you don’t sneak up on a guy in here. You tryin’ to give me a heart attack?”

Jim grimaces in response. “Well? Have you?” Usually Jim would relish scaring the newbies, but he doesn’t have the time right now. He’s got half a chub brewing from the thought of jerking off, and he doesn’t need Jay noticing. Jim likes the kid well enough, but he’s a handful; privileged and practically untouchable thanks to family contacts, he’s good at pushing the boundaries of what would usually be tolerable in the workplace and Jim is usually the butt of his ribbing. But he’ll get his own back one day. Jim has ideas. All that can wait just now though.

“Yeah, why?” Jay says, eyeing him warily.

“Have any of the bodies that got ID'd yesterday been picked up?”

Scratching his chin, Jay thinks. “Uh, just one, the old guy in number seven. The one who looked like Mr Rogers if Mr. Rogers did meth.”

Jim chews his cheek. “And you’re sure no one else?” he asks. “Absolutely certain?” 

“I mean you can check the list yourself, man,” Jay stands and picks up a thick leather-bound ledger from the counter and passes it to Jim. “If the funeral home dudes picked someone up, it’ll be there.”

Jim doesn’t need to leaf through the book for his answer. There’s only been a few bodies claimed over the past few days, and only one in the last couple of hours. Noticeably absent from that list is one John W. Lowery. 

_Hmm._

Handing Jay the book back he makes his excuses and stalks back to the morgue, to cooler number five. He clenches his hands into fists a few times, nervous. It’s always a bit sad when no one comes to claim a body, but especially so when it’s a younger person. Old people become isolated because their friends and family die before them, so by the time it’s their turn there’s no one left for them. You’d like to imagine young people have living family members, or at least one single close and caring friend. That’s the only reason he’s tense. Honestly. 

If his hands shake a little when he grips the handle, twists and pulls, Jim doesn’t acknowledge it. Doesn’t really let his mind acknowledge anything until he’s got the drawer open and the sheet pulled back. Jim’s pretty good at not acknowledging things when he doesn’t want to. It’s probably how he’s survived as long as he has.

There he is; John William Lowery, in the flesh. Still as pale and pretty as Jim remembers. He wonders if he’ll ever jerk off to another face as long as he lives, or is every fuck’s face going to be John’s from now on. Looking around quickly, making sure he’s alone, he reaches out and runs the back of his fingers down John’s cold cheek. So cold, and ever so slightly wet.

_Wait...wet?_

John shouldn’t be wet. A body put away soon after washing can seem a little frosty, but not _wet._ Frowning, Jim digs out his phone, clicks on the flashlight app and takes a closer look. There’s a very definite trail of liquid running down John’s temple, near his exit wound, and if it weren’t for the size and the obvious impossibility, Jim could’ve mistaken it for a tear. Jim touches it, sniffs before licking his fingers. That’s twice in twenty-four hours he’s stuck random bodily fluids in his mouth. He’s probably gonna catch cholera one of these fucking days.

Not this day though. Jim recognizes this taste. Again, it’s twice in twenty-four hours he’s tasted it, and his stomach feels like it’s about to fall out of his ass.

Long legs carry him to the door in a few strides, and he nearly takes the door off its hinges as he yanks it open and screams, “ _C_ _OREY?!”_

Thankfully for Jim’s temper (and everyone in the building’s eardrums), Corey sticks his head out of the next room, snapping a huge pink gum bubble. He looks unfussed, unconcerned, completely unwitting about how he’s potentially about to be murdered.

“What’s up, chief?” he asks. The urge to maim rises in Jim’s gut as he just beckons Corey into the main morgue with a finger and leads the way to the scene of the crime, as it were.

The two men stand at either side of the freezer drawer like a macabre pair of mismatched bookends, the big one’s arms folded tight to tamp down the urge to strangle the other. _Let’s start with the easy stuff,_ he thinks. _There’s gotta be a logical explanation for this. Hopefully._

“Were you in here after I left last night?”

Corey rolls his eyes towards the roof, clearly pretending to think. “Uh, yeah, I s’pose I was.” He snaps his gum again, pops another bubble.

Jim wants to yank the gum out through Corey’s teeth and use it to strangle him. Pinching the bridge of his nose he takes a deep breath. _Must. Not. Stab. Employee._ “Was anyone _else_ in here after I left last night?”

Another eye roll, another _pop_. “Uhhhh, nope. Not that I can think of.”

Jim claps his hands together. “In that case, one could surmise that _you,_ Corey Todd Taylor, are the only person who has been around the deceased since the autopsy was completed by myself. Would you agree?”

Mercifully Corey doesn’t pop his gum again, just smiles and nods. The smile reaches his eyes. It’s nice. His eyes are nice too. Blue. Pretty. _Shit_ , this is the first time Jim’s stared at Corey for this length of time, and something’s creeping through the fire of his anger. Something a bit like interest.

He coughs, stands up straighter. _Don’t think about it, James. It’s just the sleep deprivation talking._ “Then maybe you can explain what _this,”_ he jabs at the fluid with a shaking finger, “ _this_ here is, and how it came to be here.” 

Jim knows fine well what it is, and what that means, but he can’t dwell on how that makes him feel. Mostly because he’s not entirely sure; everything feels like it’s happening all at once. Like...what are the chances of there being two necrophiliacs in the same city, never mind working at the same facility? Jim’s never met someone else like him in real life. There’s a million questions running through his mind and he’s not sure he wants answers to any of them right now.

Now isn’t the time anyway. There’ll be time for questions about _that_ and working all _that_ out later. Right now he needs Corey to admit it and confirm his suspicions; then he can have Corey’s job for this. There’s no fucking room for two of them in the one morgue, and Jim can’t afford to have someone so - so _sloppy_ around. Apart from anything else, Jim _never_ leaves evidence of anything he does at work behind. 

He keeps repeating to himself it’s about _the work,_ it’s about _workplace integrity_ and _professionalism._ That’s it. It’s just business.

It’s nothing to do with John. _Nothing._

It’s just fucking Necrophilia 101, _fucking clean up after yourself_. If they released a body to the funeral home that was full of fucking spunk he’d never hear the end of it. Probably never leave his cell too. If Jim’s going to get caught and spend the rest of his miserable life in prison it will _not_ be because Corey motherfucking Taylor can’t keep his dick in his pants.

Corey doesn’t look. Just folds his arms and smirks, popping another goddamned bubble. Jim’s gonna ram that gum down his throat with his fist if he does it again. He mentally starts counting to ten, trying to tame the urge to smash.

It doesn’t work. “ _Well?_ ” Jim’s practically shouting now. He can feel that one vein in his forehead throbbing. If he has a stroke because of this he’ll be very upset.

Corey’s rocking on the balls of his feet, another irritating little display of nonchalance. “ _Well,_ Lurch,” he starts, making firm eye contact with Jim. “In my professional opinion, I’d say it’s jizz.” Smile. Smirk. _Pop._

Jim snaps. Grabbing Corey by the front of his scrubs he hauls him towards him, over the drawer and up so Corey’s feet are practically off the floor. Still Jim has to hunch down to hiss in his face.

“How do you _fucking know_ it’s fucking _jizz?”._ Rage contorts his face, and Jim can feel the heat of anger creeping up his cheeks. Flecks of spittle land on Corey’s face and he flinches, but his expression doesn’t change. Still just that little sanctimonious smirk. It just makes Jim angrier. He shakes him, yelling “ _HOW?!”_ an inch away from his nose. Jim knows he’s coming unhinged but he doesn’t have the words to describe how angry he is, how upset he is, that someone touched _his John_ , defiled him in this manner. Fuck professionalism in the workplace, fuck the workplace in general, this is about _John_ and how dare Corey. How _dare_ he. What the fuck possessed him, what on earth made him think he had the _right_ to -

Something clicks in Jim’s brain, pops right in there like the sound of Corey’s gum. He looks away to catch his breath, jaw tightening so much it hurts his teeth. When he looks back, the smug look’s just got worse. Corey must see the realisation dawn in Jim’s eyes because he winks, salacious and dirty.

Slowly, Jim relaxes his arms, then his grip, til Corey is firmly back on the floor. Corey brushes his front down, raises his hands in a classic ‘calm down’ manner. That would’ve been bad enough, if he’d just ended it there. 

But no. Corey never did know when to stop digging his own grave, and he tunnels down a little further when he says, “Just calm down, man."

Never, in the history of human existence, has someone been calmed down by being told to calm down.

“Okay, Jim, I get you’re not happy, but -”

_**WHAM**!_

Jesus _fuck,_ that _hurt_. Jim cradles his hand, rubbing his knuckles while Corey rolls on the floor, groaning. He doesn’t seem to be bleeding, much to Jim’s chagrin, but thankfully Jim’s knuckles are intact too. Gonna sting for a while though. Worth it. 

It’s while he’s inspecting the flesh of his hand that he hears it. Giggling. Jim blinks, confused. 

It’s Corey. He’s fucking _laughing._ Jim rounds the drawer and stares down at him, incredulous. Corey doesn’t even seem to have noticed him yet, he’s too busy killing himself while clutching his already-swelling face. While taking a breath he catches Jim’s eye, which sets him off again. _What the actual f-_ Jim thinks. Toeing Corey with his shoe he growls at him to get up. 

He does, slowly, spitting onto the floor. “Sheeeeee-it Jimmy, that hurt!” Corey’s blinking, looking down at his hand to check for blood. Oh, he _is_ bleeding. Jim gulps, a lump forming in his throat. “For future reference, my safe word is ‘ _red’_ , man.” Jim has no answer for that. He just gapes. “Though if I’d known you liked to play rough I’d have spunked on one of your boytoys before now.”

Jim can’t. He just can’t. Every word out of Corey’s mouth just confuses him more. Maybe he’s had an aneurysm. Maybe he’s actually unconscious and this is all some kind of horrid, _‘Vanilla Sky’-_ esque dream. Right now he’s willing to entertain anything that disproves his fear that Corey picked John for a very specific reason; a reason that really doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Dude, you at least gonna come kiss this better, huh? And stop staring at me like that.” Jim doesn’t stop staring, and Corey just sighs and drops his hands to his side, as if annoyed with explaining things to a four-year-old. “I saw you, alright? Last night. You and Stud Muffin here, having your ‘moment’?” He makes idiotic air quotes with his fingers. Jim wants to break them. He’s gonna break them off and make Corey eat them.

_Shit. Deny everything._ “What -” Jim starts again, but he’s quickly cut off _again_.

“You. Him.” Corey points alternately, brings his fingers together, then stretches his hands out as if that makes things completely clear. It doesn’t. Nothing is fucking clear, nothing will ever be fucking clear again and it doesn’t matter what he does to try and make it clear because Jim has ceased to function. All higher brain processes stopped at _‘I saw you’_. His heartbeat has become a buzz in his ear. Corey’s mouth is moving but Jim isn’t taking anything in. 

“Earth to Jim, come in Jim,” Corey’s waving his hand in front of Jim’s face

Blinking hard, Jim licks his lips and tries to make his mouth move. “It’s - it’s not what you think,” he starts, and his voice sounds small and scared. “Please, I can explain, I was - I wasn’t - please don’t -”

Corey cuts him off. “Jim, I’m not gonna tell anyone.” Ok..that’s not what Jim expected Corey to say. If Jim had to name the expression on Corey’s face, he’d say it almost looked concerned. Which is patently ridiculous. “Like seriously, if you thought I’d mind or be freaked out or something, well…” he trails off, smiling. Jim feels a bit sick. 

Corey chews his bottom lip, smirking. Devious. Dirty. Jim’s scared to wonder why the sudden change in pace and eyes him warily.

“Y’know, if you ever wanted to tag-team one of the post-rigor mortis stiffs…” 

“...What.” It isn’t a question.

“Well you fuck corpses, _I_ fuck corpses, maybe we could…” Corey says, making a quite frankly disgusting gesture with his fingers.

Jim throws his arms up, exasperated. “Corey, I don’t _fuck_ corpses. Jesus Christ. I have _some_ standards!” It sounds silly, when said out loud like that. It’s true though. “I’m _attracted_ to a - a certain kind of person, but I’d never _violate_ someone’s dead fucking body like that.” Oh _god_ , why is he explaining himself? What happened to denying everything? Why is he explaining himself to _Corey?_ Of all people?

Corey seems to ignore Jim’s protestations. “C’mon, you know you wanna. _You_ wanna fuck him. _I_ wanna fuck him. _I_ wanna fuck _you_ , and I assume you’d fuck me cos, y’know,” Corey scrunches his nose and mock-cringes, “You’re not exactly the choosiest guy. I’ve seen some of the stiffs you’ve, uh, _worked on._ Your taste is like my dick.”

“...What?” Jim asks, against his better judgement.

A grin splits Corey’s face. “Up your ass!” The words are barely out of his mouth before he’s nearly doubled over, cackling at himself.

Turning sharply on his heel, Jim storms out of the morgue, Corey’s laughter ringing in his ears.

*******

It’s been hours since his run-in with Corey, and Jim’s been sitting staring at his computer's desktop screen without seeing anything for most of it. Just basking in the faint blue glow. The streaks of green and blue pixels, distorted by distance, blur and merge into nothingness, no information transmitting from screen to eye. He’s no closer to deciding what to do about Corey and his shit. All he can do is alternate between staring at the screen, rubbing his face with his hands, hiding it in his hands, pressing his fingers into his eyes until he sees sparkling spots, and staring at the ceiling. Nothing makes his mind any clearer, or gives him any kind of guidance. What the fuck is he going to do? 

A dark voice in the back of his mind tells him that if he isn’t instantly rejecting Corey’s offer, that tacitly means he’s accepting it. Worse than saying _“I won't dignify that with an answer.”_ He’s trying not to listen to it, but he’d be lying if he said he isn’t at least half tempted. Jim might never have had actual sex with any of the bodies at work, but he’s thought about it. Jerked off over the thought of it. A lot, actually. More than he’d like to admit. He doesn’t want to admit any of it, to Corey or himself. But he’s always convinced himself that as long as he has a code of conduct, rules that give him at least _some_ semblance of morals, it’s fine. Prided himself on it, even.

But now he’s being asked to compromise those morals and he’s not instantly dismissing it out of hand, which isn’t like him, and he’s being asked to do it by someone he up until recently found repulsive. Now he’s seeing this person in a whole new light, and the fact that it’s not an especially unpleasant light makes him feel unwell and lightheaded.

Shaking his head to try and dislodge the idea, he resumes his musing. Panicking. Whatever the fuck it is he’s been doing all afternoon.

He’s so engrossed in trying to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist that he doesn’t realize he’s not alone anymore until he feels a sharp huff of air against his skin. Flinching with a gasp, his head snaps around.

 _Fuck_. It’s Corey again. Just standing there. Staring, hungry-eyed with an expression like a loaded gun aimed at Jim’s heart. He can’t do this. He’s going to have a stroke or a coronary or something. As long as he drops dead on the spot, he’ll be happy.

Jim sighs inwardly, trying not to give away his inner turmoil. "What do you want? Don't you have some impressionable teens to corrupt or something?" Corey just shrugs. Actually fucking shrugs, just when Jim thinks he couldn't get any creepier. "Oh my god, I was _joking._ You don't seriously hang out with teenagers, do you?"

A wide grin accompanies another shrug. "What can I say? I like being a bad influence," Corey chuckles with a devilish wink. It makes Jim feel a bit queasy, yet again.

He can't deny that Corey's idea has merit though. Enough merit to warrant getting into bed with a noxious co-worker though?

When Jim looks back up at Corey he's still staring at him, chewing his gum at an obnoxious volume. His eyebrow lifts when their eyes meet, as if to say, _"Well?"_

Jim gulps. "I'll think about it."

***

He’s dead on his feet by the time he drags himself home. Jim doesn’t remember the ride, has the barest recollection of parking his bike in the garage and not on the street, but he can’t be sure. The whole evening passes in a blur; Mick ordering Chinese (Jim thinks he ate it, his mouth has that grimy layer of grease coating it that reminds him how much he hates that one takeaway Mick always calls), and smoking a bit in front of the TV while some awful soft-core horror porn, something about a legend of a naked ghost, droned on in the background. Mick spent most of it on the phone to his girlfriend, Jim grateful because he didn’t have to attempt to make conversation. His phone had started buzzing around eightish, and it was taking a quite frankly ridiculous amount of willpower to resist checking it. The feeling in his gut told him everything about it that he needed to know.

It’s nearly midnight before he literally falls into bed, face smooshed into the pillow. Jim’s just debating whether or not he can be bothered getting undressed, when his phone goes again. This time, he ferrets it out his pocket to look at the screen.

It’s Corey. Jim swears.

Employees aren’t meant to have his number. If they’re taking time off or running late, they phone reception so the office staff can take care of it, they’re not supposed to call Jim directly. He’s only got his staff’s numbers so he can call them in when they’re on call or during emergencies. The idea of using one of them socially has never crossed his mind. 

The phone’s still ringing. _Jesus_. A normal person would’ve hung up by now. He swears again and hangs up, dropping it back onto the bed. With a groan he rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling. The patterns in the popcorn stucco blur as his eyes drift out of focus, fatigue starting to drag him down.

* _bzzz bzzz bzzz, bzzz bzzz bzzz*_

_Oh, you have_ got _to be shitting me,_ he thinks, snatching his phone back up. Corey, again. With a growl he mashes the hang-up icon so hard he’s lucky he doesn’t crack the screen, slamming it back down on the bed, still in hand. Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath and starts counting to ten. He doesn’t know what Corey wants. He doesn’t _care_ what Corey wants. He’s not even vaguely _interested_ in wh-

* _bzzz bzzz bzzz, bzzz bzzz bzzz*_

Jim will never know why he decided to answer the phone that time, and it’s a decision he’s pretty sure he’s doomed to regret.

“Corey, what the _fuck_ do you want? It’s the middle of the _fucking_ night, man.” How he even got Jim’s number is a question for when he can be bothered with the explanation. Right now he just wants to know why he can’t get any goddamned peace.

_“Did you watch the links I sent you?”_ That’s it. No greeting, no pleasantries. Jim can hear muffled noises in the background. It sounds like Corey’s shuffling about, possibly getting undressed from the sounds of things. Jingles that sound like a belt buckle being undone, thumps that sound like jeans hitting the floor, rustling that sounds like bedsheets. That makes Jim shudder a little. He doesn’t really want to think about Corey in bed. Or _at all._

He rubs his eyes and blinks a few times before he answers. “What links?” As soon as the question is out of his mouth he wishes he hadn’t asked. Why is he even entering into conversation? He’d answered the phone with the express intention of telling Corey to fuck off into the sun, and here is he _asking fucking questions jesus fuck_. Could he be any more of an idiot?

There’s another short moment of noise, then Corey’s voice again. _“Check your email. I’ll wait.”_

“Can’t it wait until the morning? I’m in bed.”

_“So? So am I.”_

Shit. That was information Jim didn’t need confirmed. Now he _has_ to think about Corey in bed and what he might do there, and now Jim wants to bleach his brain. That spark of curiosity spreads, and he has to take a deep breath to squash his reservations when he tells Corey he’ll be right back.

Sitting up so he doesn’t risk dropping his phone on his face, he minimizes the phone call and taps into his gmail. How can so much spam mail accumulate in such a short time? He swipes them away and there they are; four emails, all from the same address. Corey’s screen name is ‘ _Iamthegreatbigmouth’._ Jim rolls his eyes. A screen name has literally never been more appropriate in the whole history of the internet. His godforsaken gremlin brain also wonders what that might make Corey’s mouth good for. Jim vows no more weed before bed.

The first two emails are links to videos, a few links in each. Whatever Jim was expecting, it wasn’t this. The first links to a bad stream of the first Faces of Death. A classic, no doubt about it, and infamous on the internet. It’s probably the first “death video” most people who grew up with the internet watched. Even from the first time he saw it, Jim was unimpressed. None of it seemed _real._ All his friends who had seen it first said it was disturbing and all real deaths, and to someone as into blood and gore in horror movies as Jim, it sounded perfect. Jim was curious until he found out most of it was staged, simply a filmmaker cashing in on the premise of “ _possibly_ ” showing actual death up close and personal. That explained why he’d always found it a bit...empty, lacking in soul. 

Other than that there’s a few similar videos, all half-baked attempts at snuff that to the undiscerning viewer might seem almost realistic. Jim knows better. With a snort he closes the app and puts the phone back to his ear, half expecting the line to be dead. But nope, Corey’s still there. Jim can hear him breathing, slow and steady.

“Okay, looked at them,” he sighs.

Corey’s voice sounds excited when he asks, _“And?”_

“And what?” It really is too late to even be forming coherent sentences, let alone trying to figure out what Corey's talking about.

_“What did you think?”_ Corey’s voice damn near quivers with excitement

“Um,” Jim huffs through his nose. He doesn’t want to burst Corey’s bubble but he’s totally missed the mark if he thought those videos were Jim’s idea of a good time. “They’re like, interesting I guess? Seen Faces of Death before though, wasn’t impressed.”

There’s a beat of silence on the other end, then something like a soft hum. _“What about the others? You did look at all of ‘em, didn’t you?”_

No, Jim did _not_ look at them all. Corey’s has well and truly called his bluff. Mumbling something about coming right back, he goes back to his email app, clicking on one of the remaining two emails. There’s only two links in this one. He taps the first.

Ok, this is slightly more Jim’s speed. It’s a website he’s kinda familiar with, _Chronicling Life_ or similar. The video’s titled _“Bounce Back Beautiful”_ , and he clicks play before he gets caught up in the message board threads. It’s a habit but it’s like reading movie reviews; if he reads the comments and they’re not particularly favourable, he skips the video. Saves time.

The video _is_ kinda beautiful. The camera’s fixed to the ground and then a body comes into view, everything moving in slow motion as it bounces once, twice, and skids to a halt. Blood flies in a curve Fibonacci himself would be proud of as the body moves across the scene. It’s nice. Jim likes it enough. The next link is to a whole message board just titled _“Girls in morgues”,_ and once he gets over the inaccuracy of the title, he clicks through a few pages. Again, interesting, but that’s it. Fleetingly he thinks it’s kinda nice to know someone else knows about these websites and, he assumes, enjoys the content. He’s still not sure why Corey sent him these though.

Only one way to find out. “So uh yeah, now I’ve looked at them all, and I’m still in the dark here man.”

_“Did you like them?”_ Corey asks.

Jim scratches his chin, trying to think how best to answer that. “I guess?”

_“Any of them get you hot?”_ Corey’s voice drops an octave, smoothing into something one step away from a pout. It should sound ridiculous.

The noise Jim makes isn’t human when he chokes on his own saliva. Clearly he must’ve blacked out for a second because Corey did _not_ just say what it sounded like he said. 

“Uh - I mean, what - bz -” he splutters.

Corey patiently repeats, _“Did. They. Get. You. Hot?”_

That doesn’t help. _Why is Corey fucking trying to get him hot?_ Jim’s single brain cell is freaking out right now. 

“Yeah, um, no. Not really.” is all he can think to say in response.

Jim doesn’t need to see Corey to know he’s definitely pouting now. _“So, you’re not gonna jerk off to any of them?”_ Jim dies a little inside.

“What made you think I _would_?” Why is he even asking? He should be hanging up now.

_“Y’know. Cos you like just yank it to people choking it, don’t you?”_

He throws himself back with a moan of frustration. “No, I don’t just _yank it to people choking it,_ you freak,” The very thought is offensive.

_“Yeah right, remember I saw what you were getting up to,”_ Corey bites back, but Jim doesn’t miss the way his voice hitches a little. 

“Jesus man, I have a - a _paraphilia_. I’m not just a death-slut like you for fuck’s sake,” Jim pauses to rub at his eyes. “I have _taste."_

There’s a laugh on the other end of the line, and it’s the first time Jim’s heard Corey laugh for real. Not a mean chuckle or sarcastic snort, an honest-to-goodness human laugh. It’s a nice sound, and Jim hates himself for liking it. He slides down a little further, lets his hand linger on his stomach.

_“Tell me then. What do you jerk it to?”_

He licks his lips with a dry tongue, breath catching in his throat. He’s dying. Jim’s fucking dying with Corey in his ear and he’s fucking telling him about how he prefers _actual_ snuff, thank you very much, and it’s the worst idea he’s had in the world but he suddenly decides it’d be a good thing if he thumbed down the waist of his boxers til they’re low on his hips. Corey’s telling him that he hasn’t seen any proper, honest-to-god snuff, does Jim have any recommendations, could Jim maybe show him sometime? Corey’s got a big TV and a gallon of flavoured lube, Jim could come round any time and show Corey what he really likes.

Jim can’t get his hand around his cock fast enough after that, just spits in it rather than waste time fumbling with lube of his own. 

Corey’s still fucking talking, _“We could make our own snuff film, Jim,"_ he blurts, panting a little. _"Well, I don’t think it counts as snuff if they’re already dead, but that doesn’t matter. Just think about it,”_ Corey pauses with a soft cry, and Jim nearly hits the fucking roof with a boner that could now level buildings. He doesn’t know what he’s doing; he doesn’t like Corey this way and he’s pretty fucking sure Corey doesn’t like him this way, but this is the hottest thing he’s experienced in a long time, and he can’t care about the fact that it’s with his detested co-worker. His voice is still wobbly when it comes back online, _“What about your little twink? He’d look beautiful on camera, don’t you think? That porcelain skin would glow, baby, like the fuckin’ moon. Fuck - fuck, I wanna, don’t you?”_

It takes Jim a second to remember that Corey can’t see him nodding over the phone, so he breathes _yes, yes, please,_ and Corey moans like Jim just offered to suck his dick every day for the rest of their lives.

Jim’s finally had a fucking stroke. That’s the only logical explanation for why he’s going along with this. He’s clearly not himself, or else his dick would be in his boxers and not in his hand, and Corey motherfucking Taylor wouldn’t be filling his head full of some of the most incredible filth Jim’s ever heard. He knows he’s being manipulated but it’s hard to care when something feels so good. Corey’s voice is sweet and warm in Jim’s ear, and it’s been so long since someone spoke to him like this, or put this much effort into getting him off. He can hear wet squelching and heavy breathing peppered with tiny, quiet moans on the other end of the line, and he knows Corey’s not putting any of this on; he’s genuinely getting off on this, he wants this. Wants _Jim_. 

For a few long minutes, they stop speaking altogether, and the phone line is just full of the noises dribbling from the pair of them. Hot little whines, deep throaty moans, punctuated by the occasional _‘oh fuck, yeah’._ His wrist is starting to hurt he’s tugging so hard but Jim doesn’t care, doesn’t give a single flying fuck about anything except chasing his orgasm with Corey sitting shotgun. 

They come seconds apart, Corey’s voice whining _“That’s it baby,”_ when he hears Jim’s gritted-out moan, that whine catching in his throat as he comes. In his blissed-out state it’s music to Jim’s ears. 

Come morning he’ll probably be disgusted with himself and refuse to look Corey in the eye, but that’s a problem for Tomorrow Jim. Tonight Jim is breathing like he’s run a fucking marathon, trying to wipe a stupid dumb grin off his face and too exhausted to do anything but take deep, raspy gasps for breath. The phone nearly slips out of his sweaty grip, and his ear hurts where he’s got it mashed against his face. He’s just wondering if he’s still capable of speech when Corey coughs.

_“G’night, babe.”_ After that, all Jim hears is the disconnect click then silence


	2. Knuckle Deep Inside The Borderline pt 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _"Why the fuck did he say yes to Corey’s braindead scheme? Because he was on the verge of coming, that’s why. Also because he’s a fucking idiot. The entire journey to work is spent puzzling over how to tell Corey that he’s changed his mind, no he wont fuck a corpse with him, because he hasn’t completely lost his entire goddamned mind._
> 
> Or, Corey turns up the heat, and Jim has a decision to make

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY NEW YEAR U FUCKIN DEGENERATES ENJOY

If Corey was turning up the heat yesterday, today he’s straight up setting Jim on fire.

Jim’s late. Jim’s _never_ late, but he’d slept so badly the night before thanks to Corey’s nonsense that he’d woken up with barely enough time to brush his teeth and throw coffee at his face before racing out the door. Why the fuck did he say yes to Corey’s braindead scheme? Because he was on the verge of coming, that’s why. Also because he’s a fucking idiot. The entire journey to work is spent puzzling over how to tell Corey that he’s changed his mind, no he _wont_ fuck a corpse with him, because he hasn’t completely lost his entire goddamned mind. 

As he growls at Jay’s cheeky ‘ _Ha ha, the boss dun goofed’_ smirk, he thanks whoever’s listening that Corey isn’t scheduled to work today. The last thing Jim needs is him breathing down his neck. Stomping into his office, he throws off his bag, tosses his coat at the hooks, and shuffles the computer mouse to wake the ancient piece of shit up.

Ok so maybe the last thing Jim _really_ needed was hardcore snuff porn blaring from his computer speakers at 8:20am, but in Jim’s defence he wasn’t exactly expecting that.

There’s a moment of blankness where Jim has no idea what the fuck is happening or what the fuck to do, his brain just making a noise like a dying hard drive, then a manic flurry of activity as he tries to silence the infernal racket. There’s screams and moans coming from the speakers at a deafening volume and he doesn’t know if he shut the door behind him, so who knows who the fuck has heard everything, and he’s frantically slapping buttons and turning knobs in a desperate effort to shut the noise the hell up. It’s all in vain, nothing’s working, so in a last-ditch attempt he reaches behind the speakers and _yanks._

Silence. Blessed silence. He viciously stabs the monitor button, turning it off in lieu of trying to turn the porn off. That can wait. He just. Just needs a minute. Jim practically collapses in his seat, trying to get his breathing to slow down and heart to stop hammering. Give his body time to reabsorb all the epinephrine his adrenal glands just pissed out. Picking a point on the door he focuses there and counts to ten as he breathes in and out slowly. 

Oh, the door’s closed. That’s something. Maybe that means the people in the old folks home next door didn’t hear much. It’s kinda discouraged in Jim’s line of work to _create customers_ , as they put it, and while a silver flood of heart attacks brought on by an early morning porn extravaganza isn’t quite the worst possible outcome of Corey’s bullshit, it’s pretty close to it.

He’s just contemplating the most effective way of ending his life when his phone rings. For a brief second he considers putting it into yesterday’s cold cup of coffee, but common sense prevails and he looks at the screen.

It’s Corey. Because of fucking course it is, because Jim’s life has become a farce, a spoof, a comedy of errors. 

He answers. Corey will only keep calling and there’s no point in putting off the inevitable. There’s no effort made to be polite when he barks _“What?”_ down the phone.

Corey is obnoxiously cheerful. _“Hey sunshine, sleep well?”_

No, no he didn’t sleep well. He’d tossed and turned fitfully, plagued by dreams of Corey. Corey on his knees in front of him, Jim’s cock buried in a slit in his throat. _Jim_ on his knees in front of Corey, ass impossibly full as Corey railed him hard and fast. When he woke up it was to a deep feeling of shame and the sheets stuck to his drooling dick. 

Corey doesn’t need to know any of that though. “Yeah, uh, fine. You?” Jim sniffs. 

_“Mmmm, like the dead,”_ Corey laughs at his own lame joke, and it makes Jim feel funny again. He’s not having this again though. Last night was an aberration, not to be repeated again.

“Corey, what do you want?” Jim sighs, “I’m at work.”

He hums. _“Just wondering if you enjoyed your surprise?”_

Jim swears under his breath. _Of fucking course._ “Is there even any point in me asking how the fuck you managed to get onto my computer, which is meant to be for _my_ use only?”

 _“I’ve been watching you for ages, Lurch, you know that.”_ Oh shit. Jim gulps. If Corey’s been watching him long enough and closely enough to work out his password, what else has he seen or worked out? A cold sweat breaks out and runs down Jim’s back, making him shudder.

“How long is ‘ages’?” Jim’s terrified of the answer but he has to know. Needs to know what Corey knows because there’s a huge difference between being arrested for a single _“crime of passion”_ and being arrested for _literally years of necrophiliac behaviour,_ especially in his position as medical examiner for the county. 

Corey makes a sound that sounds like he’s contemplating something complicated. _“Hmm...long enough to know that your little tête-à-tête the other night wasn’t an isolated incident.”_

Oh fuck. Oh no. Suicide is looking increasingly appealing. Jim drops his head into his hand and tries not to hyperventilate. 

Corey's still talking, oblivious to Jim's suffering. _“So. When do you wanna do the deed? I figured we could like, discuss it just now. Work out a game plan?”_

Fuck. Jim had hoped Corey had forgotten about that, or at least just put it down to being horny and stupid in the heat of the moment. The fact his dick instantly perks up at the memory makes him briefly want to die for the thousandth time in 48 hours. Still, erection aside, he can’t encourage Corey and his half-baked scheme. “Yeah, about that -”

_“No, don’t even think about it. You said yes last night, I’m not letting you take it back. C’mon baby, I wanna tell you about all the things I think we should do to him.”_

Jim grinds the heel of his hand against his dick, trying to get some friction and push it down at the same time. What the fuck even is this day? It’s not even ten a.m. yet. "I'm not discussing fucking a dead guy with an employee while I’m at fucking work at the fucking morgue,” he hisses, “It's too David Lynch!"

That makes Corey laugh, and it reminds Jim so much of the previous night that his dick jerks in his underwear. _Judas._

_“C’mon Jim, quick and dirty. Just like your first time with your brown-eyed boy.”_

Jesus wept.

“Dude, I _cannot_ talk about this right now, I’ve got work to do,” Jim squeezes his eyes with his thumb and finger. “Just call me tonight,” he pleads, desperate.

 _“But why wait til tonight?”_ Corey whines. _“I’m horny now!”_

Jim groans, the sound of Corey’s pleading again shooting straight to his dick, making it leak. _Fuck._

Corey just carries on while Jim dies a death. _“You’re in your office, aren’t you? It’s not like you’re in the middle of the morgue. This time, anyway.”_

“That’s not the fucking point,” Jim hisses. “What if someone walks in?”

_“Uh, maybe lock the door first, you dweeb?”_

Jim colours. Shit. That was the only excuse he could think of at short notice and now he’s fucked. He’s on his feet and at the door before he realizes, but he stops himself at the last minute. There’s still time to get out of this. He could tell Corey to go fuck himself. Or just hang up on him. It’s not like he owes Corey an explanation.

There’s another moan from the other end of the line, accompanied by the unmistakable slap of skin on skin. _“Don’t you want him Jim? I saw what you did to him. Don’t you want more?”_

Jim twists the lock in the knob so hard he nearly breaks it, sits down heavily and slouches low in his seat. Picking at a frayed thread on the hem of his scrubs, he mumbles softly, “Yes.”

_“Yes, what?”_

Fuck. Jim’s speaking, why is he _fucking speaking?_ He’s telling Corey that yes he wants more, he wants more of John, and Corey’s asking what exactly Jim wants to do to him, and Jim’s fingers have moved from the ratty hem to the drawstring of his pants and _shit_ he didn’t realise how hard he is until he got a hold of himself and he’s pretty sure he’s losing his mind because this time yesterday he would rather have smashed his dick in the morgue fridge before he’d even _consider_ touching it for the benefit of Corey motherfucking Taylor. Look at him now, with all his morals and ethics, jerking himself stupid all for his fucking co-workers benefit.

It doesn’t last long. It makes Jim feel faint with shame but Corey’s voice is low and warm like velvet and he could be reading the goddamned phonebook and Jim would probably be just as close to coming as he is right now. The way he describes what he wants to do to Jim, what he wants Jim to do to John, makes Jim whine louder than he really should but he doesn’t fucking _care_ . Because every word sinks into his soul and makes him feel... _wanted._ Desirable. Like surely Corey wouldn’t want to risk his own skin by metaphorically getting into bed with Jim and John? He _must_ feel _something_.

Then Corey lets out the sweetest, most vulnerable cry, and Jim feels the thread holding his own orgasm back snap. At the very last minute he has to let go of his dick so he can bite down on his knuckles to avoid shouting out loud, the sensation of not fucking himself through his orgasm and letting his dick twitch and spurt uncontrolled over his stomach alien and strange but still blissfully devastating. His head pounds from lack of oxygen and it takes Jim a second to remember to catch his breath, not realising he’d been holding it practically since Corey started talking.

Corey sounds fucked-out and drowsy when he eventually speaks again. It makes Jim’s heart clench. _“Oh, I sent you another couple of links. Hopefully these ones are a bit more to your liking, sweetheart.”_

The line goes dead after that, so Jim doesn’t have time to tell Corey that if he ever calls him _baby_ or _sweetheart_ or any kind of pet name ever again, he’ll put his boot so far up his ass Corey will be eating shoelaces for dinner.

\-----

Despite his claims to the contrary, Jim doesn’t _really_ mind a bit of fake snuff and necro porn now and again because let’s face it, finding proper snuff porn isn’t easy and he gets bored watching the same things over and over. He just usually prefers stuff that’s higher quality than what Corey first sent him. Nonetheless, when he gets home he finds himself curious and decides to properly check out a couple of the videos he's been sent. He ends up edging himself for about three hours before he finally lets himself come, with John’s face in his head and Corey’s name on his tongue. 

For the second fucking time in twenty-four hours. It’s shameful. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, he haphazardly cleans himself up with his t-shirt and falls into a fitful sleep.

\-----

There’s a text message waiting for Jim when he wakes up the next day. Instructions. From Corey. His mouth goes dry as he scrolls. Jim hadn’t quite accepted that Corey was serious, that his plan was actually going to go ahead, because they hadn’t actually discussed any details. Apparently Corey had it all worked out though, and here it all was in black and white. Corey’s already working night shift, he just needs Jim to come in at the specified time. There’s only a skeleton staff on during the night so it should hopefully only be the two of them, barring any emergencies.

Indecision churns in Jim’s gut. Does he really want to do this? _You can’t come back from this_ , he reminds himself. That doing this to a body, and doing it with Corey, will change him and things forever, whether he likes it or not. He’ll be letting someone into the most private part of his life, for fuck’s sake. Although, technically Corey’s already part of it. He saw Jim with John. Jim can’t undo that orgasm, and nor would he want to, but now knowing he had an audience makes it feel...different. Almost slightly less special? So maybe...maybe it couldn’t hurt to have _another_ special moment with John? While he still has the chance. John's body wont last much longer unembalmed, and that’d require a funeral home coming to get him which doesn’t seem to be happening. And Jim would have no have access to him then.

 _Fuck,_ he’s so fucked. Jim drags his hands down his face before checking the time. Somehow the hours between now and the deadline feel like both days and minutes. Either way it doesn’t feel like enough. 

***

“Hey babe,” Corey greets Jim enthusiastically when he finally walks into the morgue that night. Jim cuts him a look from the side of his eye and Corey falls silent, probably thinking better of winding Jim up right now. He’s clinging onto things by the skin of his teeth tonight and the last thing he needs is Corey’s fucking attitude.

There's no wasting time with pleasantries or, god forbid, foreplay. Jim just goes straight to the drawer housing John's body and motions for Corey to bring over a gurney. Together they gently shift the wrapped cadaver until it's settled on the treatment table, and Jim can slowly peel back the covers. 

His heart lodges itself firmly in his throat. John looks just as perfect as before; just a little more pale, which makes his tattoos stand out even more. There's barely any of the usual indicators of death; things like livor mortis and eye-sinking, the things that even refrigeration can't stop completely. He's just... _perfect._ It makes Jim feel a little guilty about what they're about to do. It almost seems stupid to treat a body with such care and respect when you're about to desecrate it in the worst way possible.

"Hang on, gimme a minute…" Jim watches, aghast, as Corey climbs up onto the table, straddling the cold body beneath him. He can barely see John now, slight body mostly hidden under Corey's thick thighs.

This wasn't part of the plan. "What the fuck are you doing, man?" Jim asks, trying not to just turn around and run and never look back.

Corey just smiles."I'm joining in dude, what do you think I'm doing?"

“Corey, please,” Jim pleads. "This is not _'joining in'_ this is - is - just making a fucking spectacle of everything! That's not what we agreed!"

“I wanna be part of this, babe, we _said_ we'd do it together," Corey says, literally pouting. "This is a special occasion, I’m just trying to get a good view.”

Corey’s on his hands and knees, limbs either side of the body, and when he’s straddling John’s face he pauses to grind his hips downwards, dragging his clothed dick the length of it. His eyes flutter shut and he bites his lip, and Jim’s furious when it makes his traitorous dick twitch in his pants. Then he’s crawling towards Jim, rolling his head from side to side in time with his hips as he speaks, and Jim couldn’t look away if he tried. Yes he agreed to doing this _with_ Corey but this. This isn't what he'd imagined at all. He feels like he's fallen into the Twilight Zone. _This doesn't have to happen,_ he tells himself. _You can still just leave and go home._

That doesn't happen. Instead, with his hands behind the knees, Jim lifts John’s legs and pushes them up towards his stomach. Corey’s getting comfortable, butt perched on John’s belly and leaning slightly between those legs towards Jim. He’s sweating. Corey’s staring and Jim’s so fucking hard but he’s so uncomfortable with being looked at at the best of times that he’s terrified he’s gonna lose it and end up being ridiculed. 

But Corey’s voice is quiet and soft when he says, “Hey, hey, just relax. It’s just us here,” and he startles Jim into opening his eyes by touching his face with a gentle hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb. “We both want this, remember?” Before Jim can answer Corey drops his hand, sliding them both around John’s thighs, fingers intertwining between Jim’s. He tries to shake him off.

“Stop, please.” Corey just smiles and tightens his grip. “Corey, I agreed to doing this together but not _together,_ ” he whines.

That smile hasn’t changed. “You’re cute," Corey says as he lets go and digs in his pockets. He pulls out a condom and a sachet of lube. It occurs to Jim that his hands are in use so Corey's going to have to put the condom on him, and he starts to panic slightly at the idea of Corey even _seeing_ his dick, never mind touching it.

But Corey seems to realise this and does what he needs to slowly, gently, every movement advertised and careful. By the time he's rolling the condom down Jim's length and slicking him with lube, Jim feels like he could happily just let Corey jerk him off instead of carrying out their plans. A horrible voice in the back of his head says, _"Next time."_

Jim expects Corey to take over holding one of John's legs so Jim can get himself lined up. Corey makes no move to grab John, instead he shifts to a underhand grip and lines the head of Jim’s dick up with John’s hole.

This is it. The moment of truth. His dick’s in Corey’s hand and John’s hole is open and ripe for the taking. Why is he hesitating? Didn’t he spend hours last night dreaming of this very thing? Not quite, John had been a live and willing participant in those particular fantasies.

Shaking his head, Jim finally takes the plunge. Jumping a little at how cold John's hole is, he slowly presses his hips forward. At once he has to pause because the squeeze is just _so fucking tight_ that it makes stars burst behind his eyes and his knees wobble beneath him. Tentatively he thrusts in and out a few times, letting himself get used to the feeling so he doesn’t instantly come everywhere. He wants this to last long enough to remember it fondly, not as the monumental mistake it's felt like so far. Something good has to come out of all this nonsense.

Corey's staring down at where Jim and John are so obscenely connected as he starts to move in and out, in and out. His blue eyes are so dilated, lips pink and wet where he keeps licking them, and his voice catches when he speaks which gives away the lust behind his cheeky words.

“Damn, I shoulda put on music. It’s nice to have music to remember these moments by. Maybe some Barry Manilow?” He cocks an eyebrow at Jim.

If there was a scalpel nearby Jim would be putting it to use and joining John in blissful ignorance. “I will put my dick back in my pants and leave, I swear to god.”

“Jeeze, no need to be so touchy. I just wanted your first time to be perfect, that’s all,” Corey says, all pretend-offended and filthy giggles. Jim can see clear as day that Corey’s getting off on this. Not just the fact they’re both participating in _fucking a corpse_ , no there’s more to it than that. He’s enjoying making Jim squirm, likes winding him up and watching him sweat. When he raises a hand in front of Jim and grins, it doesn't take Jim long to realise Corey’s asking for a fucking high five. _What a fucking dork._

Despite knowing better, Jim lifts his hand as if to slap Coreys. But then Corey’s leaning in and he’s really close to Jim’s face. Too close, it feels too much like Corey's about to kiss him, and he feels his hand move to smush into Corey’s face instead, shoving him away hard before he can stop himself. With a yelp Corey overbalances, and Jim can’t do anything in time to stop him tumbling off the table, just watches in slight horror then relief as he thankfully lands mostly on his feet before his ass hits the floor. This is honestly the strangest sex Jim has had in his life, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it thankfully, because Corey’s bouncing back up onto his feet and walking behind Jim, rather than getting back up on the table. Then his hands are on Jim’s hips, crotch rubbing against his ass in time with Jim’s movements.

“Put your hand on his stomach while you fuck him,” Corey pants, sounding overwhelmed by what he’s seeing. “Don’t ask, just do it.”

Jim does as he’s told. His hand trembles as he places it against the soft, cold skin of John's stomach and thrusts. _Fuck_ , what was that? He felt something. Another thrust. Yeah, there it is again. _Jesus_ , Jim didn't actually believe this shit was real but it's true; he easily feels the head of his dick hit against his hand when he fucks into John. He forces himself to shift his hand a bit, away from that spot, and thrusts a little harder. The sight of his dick nearly fucking bursting through John's skinny belly almost makes him go fucking blind.

So entranced is he, that it takes him a second to realise that warm fingers are sneaking under his top and dipping into the waistbands of his clothes. Jim knows he should stop, stop what he’s doing and stop Corey, but his body wont let him. His movements do slow a little as thumbs hook into his pants and underwear and start working them down a little though.

“Corey, what the fuck are you doing?” he asks, slightly afraid of the answer.

“Don’t worry about it, just concentrate on you,” The answer is so light and glib, Jim just complies without thinking, picking up the pace of his thrusts again. Corey’s hands are soft, slow and searching as they roam over Jim’s newly exposed ass. It’s weird but...it’s nice. Nice to be touched. The idea of Corey doing things to him still makes him feel a bit ill, but the lonely part of Jim that he tries to keep buried is crying out for more, more. Those thumbs work into the crease next, and Jim’s heart jumps into his fucking throat. Those fingers are playing around his hole but he can’t feel any lube, just the vague slickness of spit. It’s not enough, it’s not going to be enough, _it’s not_ -

Then they’re inside, pushing past the resistance of his rim, and the burn is awful but he doesn’t do anything to stop it. Just tries to concentrate on his breathing, relaxing. Every time he stops thrusting to adjust, Corey stops his movements, and eventually Jim gets with it and tries his best to just maintain his rhythm. He’s thrusting into John’s prone body and back against Corey’s searching fingers, and despite his misgivings he has to admit that it’s fucking _glorious_. Those digits are swift and even though it’s dry and painful Jim’s never been fingered so simply and so well in his life. He’s not even embarrassed by the pitiful groan he lets out when Corey removes his fingers. Jim feels open and empty and gaping. He hates it, wants that feeling of fullness back. 

That wish is instantly granted and swiftly regretted, when he feels Corey push against him. Except this time it’s not his fingers, it’s his cock, and again he’s too dry, Jim can tell from here. The head is wet with spit, a bit more than last time, but he still has to stifle a scream as the head of Corey’s dick pops in. He’s on fire. Every goddamn inch of him is on fire and he can’t think straight. There’s noises babbling like water from his lips but he’ll be damned if he knows what he’s saying, it’s a mix of _Corey_ and _John_ and _more, please, stop, more, no no no, yes yes yes._

Now Corey’s in charge, his thrusting into Jim’s body propelling Jim forward into John’s. Something trickles down the inside of Jim’s thigh and he’s genuinely not sure if it’s saliva or blood. His mind is mostly clouded by the sheer pleasure of it all, but one randomly coherent thought breaks through; it’s strange, having sex with someone you haven’t even kissed. Panicked at the _idea_ of kissing, even. Though they’re not really _having sex;_ it’s more like Corey’s just _fucking_ Jim and Jim’s just a warm body. Cos it’s not like Corey _asked_ to fuck Jim but then Jim didn’t exactly say _no_ when Corey made his intentions clear, and he’s pretty sure if he turned his head and tried to kiss him Corey would let him, but not sure enough to actually _try._

That velvet voice cuts into Jim’s train of thought. “Isn’t it funny how danger makes people passionate?”

Now Jim _does_ turn his head towards Corey, dazed and gasping as he frowns. “Don’t fucking quote Zelda Fitz- _fucking_ -gerald to me while you’ve got your dick in my ass - _fuck!”_ He’s cut off by a particularly rough thrust, accompanied by a filthy chuckle from Corey. 

“Dang Stretch, that’s - _mmmm_ \- impressive,” he purrs, breath hot against Jim’s ear and neck. It makes him shiver. “Am I not fuckin’ you right or something? If you can s-still think straight then I must be off my g-g-game.” His thrusts stutter in time with his speech, and Jim can feel him twitching inside

“You’re the fucking devil.”

“Mmmh, maybe,'' Corey pants, reaches his hand in front of them both to touch John’s lower stomach with his fingertips. “But you’re the one with the demon cock about to burst through this twink’s gut.”

That makes Jim look back down at John, momentarily annoyed that he’d stopped concentrating on his cold little body, for getting distracted by his beating-heart partner, and it’s all at once too much. Suddenly he’s crying out and clenching down on Corey’s cock, filling the condom up so much he worries it's going to leak. Corey buries his face between Jim's shoulder blades and pants warm breaths against the fabric of Jim's shirt as he comes, Jim's spasming hole milking him dry. The closeness Jim feels, the warmth of Corey's sweaty skin through fabric, is nice, calming in a way.

It's gone too soon, and Jim's empty again apart from the grim sensation of come running down his legs. Corey comes back quickly though, wiping it up with a handful of tissues, being so gentle when cleaning Jim's raw-feeling ass that it makes him want to cry. Then he's taking Jim by the hips and turning him around to remove the condom. Jim’s closes his eyes for a minute, just letting the gentle touches soothe him as he's buffered by the aftershocks of his orgasm.

When he opens his eyes, Corey’s dropping the condom into a specimen cup and handing it to Jim, who takes it off him without question. He gets it. It’s a memento, a keepsake. A fairly gruesome one, but it feels appropriately similar to the memento Jim left John with the first time he saw him. A soft hand strokes his back, making him realise he’s shaking a bit.

“Wanna come back to mine? Just to sleep, I mean. You look rattled.” Their eyes meet, and as he's looking down at Corey's face with it's soft lips and concerned expression, Jim finally feels some of the weight that's been on his back over the past few days lift a little.

Jim only thinks for a second. “Yeah. Yeah, yours sounds good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dysphorie.tumblr.com  
> wolfbad.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> Phone sex, discussion of necrophilia, death, discussion of snuff films, graphic description of death
> 
> dysphorie-dot-png.tumblr.com  
> wolfbad.tumblr.com


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